hen  Hearts 
areTrumps 


By 

Tom  Hall 


Stone  6:  Kimball 
Chicago 


The  verses  in  ibis  volume  have  teen  selected 
from  work  that  has  appeared  in  various  peri- 
odicals during  the  past  five  years.  Especially 
to  the  editors  of  LIFE,  TRUTH,  TOWN  TOPICS, 
VOGUE,  and  MUNSEY'S  MAGAZINE  /  have  to 
offer  my  thanks  for  their  permission  to  repuh- 
lisb  the  majority  of  them. 

T.  H. 


Contents, 

THE  PERFECT  FACE,  i. 

THE  MOONLIGHT  SONATA,  2. 

THE  Kiss,  3, 

THE  BRIDE,  4. 

A  PROBLEM,  5. 

To  PHYLLIS  READING  A  LETTER,  6. 

A    ROSE   FROM    HER   HAIR,   7. 

WHEN  I  TOLD  HER  MY  LOVE,  8. 

MY  LADY,  YOU  BLUSHED,  9. 

THE  AMERICAN  SLAVE,  10. 

SELL  HER,  — THAT'S  RIGHT,  12. 

TIME  AND  PLACE,  13. 

BLOOD  ON  THE  ROSE,  15. 

IN  OLD  MADRID,  16. 

THE  DUEL,  17. 

THE  SHROUD,  18. 

LOVE'S  RETURN,  19. 

ONE  WISH,  20. 

FOR  ME,  21. 

To  A  WATER-COLOR,  22. 


THE  SERENADE,  23. 

TO  THE  ROSE  IN  HER  HAIR,  25. 

HER  REVERIE,  25. 

To  BEAUTY,  27. 

jjtJDREAMING   OF   YOU,    28. 

PLEASE  RETURN,  29. 

ALMOST  DYING  OF  ENNUI,  30. 

JACKS  FROM  JACK,  31. 

HYACINTHS,  32. 

IN  THE  WALTZ,  33. 

SHE  is  MINE,  35. 

OLD  TIMES,  37. 

OF  MY  LOVE,  38. 

THE  FAREWELL,  39. 

THE  LAST  DANCE,  41. 

WHY  HE  ASKED  FOR  A  VACATION,  44. 

THE  EDITOR'S  VALENTINE,  46. 
^ACTING,  49. 
,'  AN  APACHE  LOVE-SONG,  51. 

THE  OLD-FASHIONED  GIRL,  53. 

A  RETROSPECT,  55. 

HARD  HIT,  56. 

REJECTED,  58. 


HER  YACHTING  CAP,  63. 

THEFT,  65. 

BEFORE  HER  MIRROR,  66. 

AT  OLD  POINT  COMFORT,  68. 

A  DROP  Too  MUCH,  70. 

INGRATITUDE,  71. 

A  FEW  RESOLUTIONS,  72. 

A  DILEMMA,  73. 

A  CHOICE  NOT  NECESSARY,  74. 

THAT  BOSTON  GIRL,  75. 

THE  HERO,  76. 

THE  SWEET  SUMMER  GIRL,  77. 

HER  FAN,  79. 

CERTAINTY,  80. 

CAUGHT,  81. 

AN  IMPORTANT  DISTINCTION,  82. 

Two  KINDS,  83. 

WHAT  IT  Is,  84. 

IN  HER  PEW,  85. 

THE  SUSPICIOUS  LOVER  TO  THE  STAR.  86. 

A  SLIGHT  SURPRISE,  87. 

PAST  vs.  PRESENT,  88. 

THE  USUAL  WAY,  89. 


,-- 


A  DIFFERENCE  IN  STYLE,  90. 

AFRAID,  91. 

YE  RETORT  EXASPERATING,  92. 

A  RHYMING  REVERIE,  93. 

A  SURE  WINNER,  94. 

TANTALIZATION,  95. 

His  USUAL  FATE,  96. 

ON  Two  LETTERS  FROM  HER,  97. 

A  SERENADE  —  EN  DEUX  LANGUES,  98. 

WHEN  A  GIRL  SAYS  "No,"  99. 

UNCERTAINTY,  101. 

HER  PECULIARITIES,  102. 

TYING  THE  STRINGS  OF  HER  SHOE,  104. 

WHEN  You  ARE  REJECTED,  105. 

A  BACHELOR'S  VIEWS,  106. 

MY  CIGARETTE,  108. 

DISCOVERED,  109. 

THE  ICE  IN  THE  PUNCH,  in. 

THE  TALE  OF  A  BROKEN  HEART,  113. 

WHERE  DID  YOU  GET  IT?  115. 

No,  116. 

A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  TEMPEST,  118. 


THE  ABUSED  GALLANT,  123. 
AFTER  THE  BALL,  125. 
VANITY  FAIR,  126. 
FOR  THE  LONG  VOYAGE,  128. 


•Boturrs 


Graces,  on  a  summer  day, 
Grew  serious  for  a  moment  ;  yea, 
They  thought  in  rivalry  to  trace 
The  outline  of  a  perfect  face. 


Each  used  a  rosebud  for  a  brush, 
And,  while  it  glowed  with  sunset's  blush, 
Each  painted  on  the  evening  sky, 
And  each  a  star  used  for  the  eye. 


They  finished.     Each  a  curtaining  cloud 
Drew  back,  and  each  exclaimed  aloud  : 
"Behold,  we  three  have  drawn  the  same, 
From  the  same  model  !  "    Ah,  her  name  ? 


I  know.     I  saw  the  pictures  grow. 

I  saw  them  falter,  fade,  and  go. 

I  know  the  model.     Oft  she  lures 

My  heart.     The  face,  my  sweet,  was  yours. 


Sonata. 


HE  notes  still  float  upon  the  air, 

Just  as  they  did  that  night. 
"l  see  the  old  piano  there,  — 
Oh,  that  again  I  might! 


Her  young  voice  haunts  my  eager  ear ; 

Her  hair  in  the  candle-light 
Still  seems  an  aureole,  —  a  tear 

Is  my  spectroscope  to-night. 


I  hear  her  trembling  tell  me  "No," 

And  I  know  that  she  answered  right 

But  I  throw  a  kiss  to  the  stars,  and  though 
She  be  wed  she  will  dream  to-night. 


OVER  the  green  fields,  over  the  snow, 
Something  I  send  thee,  something  I  throw 
No  one  can  guess  it ;  no  one  can  know. 


Light  as  a  feather,  quick  as  the  eye; 
Thin  as  a  sunbeam,  deep  as  the  sky ; 
If/A    u  Worthless,  but  something  a  queen  could  not  buy, 


Ah,  you  have  caught  it,  love!     How  do  I  know? 

Sweet,  there  are  secrets  lost  ages  ago. 

Lovers  learn  all  of  them.     Smile  not,  —  'tis  so. 


"DEFORE   her   mirror,   robed  in   spotless 

white, 
She  stands  and,  wondering,  looks  at  her 

own  face, 

Amazed  at  its  new  loveliness  and  grace. 
Smiling  and  blushing  at  the  pretty  sight, 
So  fraught  is  she  with  innocent  delight, 
She  feels  the  tender  thrill  of  his  embrace 
Crushing  her  lilies  into  flowery  lace  ; 
Then  sighs  and  starts,  even  as  though  from 
fright. 


Then  fleets  before  her  eyes  the  happy  past ; 
She  turns  from  it  with  petulant  disdain, 
And  tries  to  read  the  future, — but  in  vain. 

Blank  are  its  pages  from  the  first  to  last. 

She  hears  faint  music,  smiles,  and  leaves  the 
room 

Just  as  one  rosebud  more  bursts  into 


a  Problem. 

GIVE  you  a  problem  for  your  midnight  toil,  — 
One  you  can  study  till  your  hair  is  white 
And  never  solve  and  never  guess  aright, 
Although  you  burn  to  dregs  your  midnight  oil  ? 
O  Sage,  I  give  one  that  will  make  you  moil. 
Just  take  one  weakling  little  woman's  heart. 
Prepare  your  patience,  furbish  up  your  art. 
How  now  ?    Did  I  not  see  you  then  recoil  ? 


Tell  me  how  many  times  it  has  known  pain ; 

Tell  me  what  thing  will  make  it  feel  delight; 
Tell  me  when  it  is  modest,  when  't  is  vain ; 

Tell  me  when  it  is  wrong  and  when  'tis  right:  ^ 
But  tell  me  this,  all  other  things  above,— 
Can  it  feel,  Sage,  the  thing  that  man  calls  "  Love  "  ? 


^^9    C* 

5 


Co  P&plUs  KeaHinff  a  letter. 

A    SMILE  is  curving  o'er  her  creamy  cheel 
*^"     Her  bosom  swells  with  all  a  lover's  joy,  ta 

When  love  receives  a  message  that  the  coj 
Young  love-god    made  a  strong   and  true^ 

heart  speak 

From  far-off  lands  ;  and  like  a  mountain-peak 

That  loses  in  one  avalanche  its  cloy 

Of  ice  and  snow,  so  doth  her  breast  employ 

Its  hidden  store  of  blushes  ;  and  they  wreak 

Destruction,  as  they  crush  my  aching  heart,  — 

Destruction,  wild,  relentless,  and  as  sure 

the  poor  Alpine  hamlet's;  and  no  art 
Can  hide  my  agony,  no  herb  can  cure 
My  wound.    Her  very  blush  says,  "  We  must^ 

part." 
Why  was  it  always  my  fate  to  endure  ?< 


And  she  hid  her  young  heart  withi 
.rdly  speak  from  despair, 


With  a  blush  as  she  stooped  to  pin  it. 
She  gave  me  a  rose  from  her  hair, 
And  she  hid  her  young  heart  within  it. 


talB  &et  mp  iotoe 


VT7HEN  I  told  her  my  love, 
She  was  maidenly  shy, 


And  she  bit  at  her  glove. 


I  gave  Cupid  a  shove ; 

Yes,  I  begged  him  to  try, 
When  I  told  her  my  love. 


What  was  she  thinking  of 

As  she  uttered  that  sigh 

And  she  bit  at  her  glove  ? 

And  pray  what  does  it  prove 

That  she  stopped  there  to  sigh, 
When  I  told  her  my  love 
And  she  bit  at  her  glove  ? 


MY  lady,  you  blushed. 
Was  my  love  a  surprise  ? 
How  quickly  they  hushed! 


A  curl  of  yours  brushed 
All  else  from  my  eyes 
My  lady,  you  blushed. 


You  say  that  I  gushed, 

And  they  all  heard  my  sighs? 
How  quickly  they  hushed ! 


Your  roses  were  crushed  ; 

N'importe  wherefores  and  whys 
My  lady,  you  blushed. 


COME,  muster  your  pleasantest  smile, 
dear, 

And  put  on  your  prettiest  gown. 
Forget  about  Jack  for  a  while,  my  dear, 
His  lordship  has  just  come  to  town. 

He  's  come  here  to  get  him  a  wife,  my  dear, 
And  you  have  been  put  up  for  sale 

With  a  marvellous  income  for  life,  my  dear, 

'     * 

To  balance  your  side  of  the  scale. 


[is  lordship  is  feeble  and  old,  my  dear,  — 
What  odds  ?    All  the  sooner  he  '11  die. 
;  And  he  has  a  sore  need  of  your  gold,  my 
See  the  good  you  can  do  if  you  '11  try. 


And  then  a  real  lady  you  '11  be,  my  dear, 
Not  only  by  nature  but  name; 

Mamma  '11  be  so  proud,  —  you  can  see,  my 

dear, 
No  one  thinks  it,  as  you  do,  a  shame. 

So  bend  your  proud  head.     Are  you  faint, 

my  dear  ? 
Keep   the    tears    back,  be    buoyant    and 

brave. 
Keep  that  pose !    Now  a  portrait  we  '11  paint, 

my  dear, 
To  be  called  "The  American  Slave." 


OELL  her,  —  that 's  right !     She  is  young, 

^        she  is  fair  ; 

There  's  the  light  of  the  sun  in  the  coils  of 

her  hair, 
And  her  soul  is  as  white  as  the  first  flakes  of 

snow 
That  are  falling  to-night.     'T  is  a  bargain,  a 

« go."  r/n 

Sell  her,  — that's  right! 

Sell  her,  —  that 's  right  1     For  a  bag  full  of 

gold. 
Put  her  down  in  your  ledger,  and  label  her 

"  Sold." 

She  's  only  a  beauty  with  somebody's  name, 
And  the   Church  for  a  pittance  will   wash 

out  the  shame. 
Sell  her,  —  that 's  right ! 


83 

Ctme  airt  Place. 


TJASTEN    onl    Tne    mad    moonlight    is 
•"•        beaming 


On  the  hatred  and  love  'twixt  us  two ; 


And  it  beams  on  the  maid  who  is  dreaming 


And  the  grave  made  for  me  or  for  you. 


Time    and    place,  —  love    and    life    in    the 

balance, 

Fear  and  hope  in  the  glance  of  your  eye. 
Draw  your  blade !    Forget  not  we  are  gallants 


Ere  she  wakes  from  her  innocent  dreams 


Bare  your  arm !  Strike  for  life  and  the  maiden ! 

Take  that !     You  are  cautious,  I  fear. 
Speed  the  blow,  —  't  is  with  happiness  laden 


For  him  who  does  not  remain  here. 


That  and  that !     I  am  wounded,  —  it 's  over, 
Those  kisses  were  destined  for  you ; 

But  now  she  is  yours  and  you  love  her, 
Go  tell  her  that  I  loved  her  too. 


•BtooU  on  tlje  Koae. 


T  S  it  dew  on  the  rose  ? 

'Tis  the  same  that  I  gave  him 
Last  night  when  I  chose 
To  warn  him  and  save  him  ; 


That  he  pinned  on  his  breast 
With  a  smile  at  his  danger, 

And  a  smile,  not  in  jest, 
That  was  sweeter  and  stranger. 

Here  are  footprints  of  foes  ! 

Oh,  my  heart!  —  I  can  feel 
It  is  blood  on  the  rose 

And  a  sliver  of  steel. 


T  STROLLED  the  streets  in  quest  of  any 
love, 

In  old  Madrid  long  centuries  ago; 
I  caught  the  perfume  of  a  scented  glove, 

I  saw  a  sweet  face  in  a  portico. 

She  laughed  — then  paled.     She  leaned  out; 
whispered,  "  Fly  !  " 

And  then  I^felt  the  sting  of  steel,  the  hiss  t\ 
Of  curses  in  my  ear,  and  knew  that  I 

Had  forfeited  my  life  —  and  lost  a  kiss. 


EN  paces  —  one,  two,  three,  and  fire  ! 
Two  gallants  have  their  heart's  desire 


One  of  them  dies,  the  other  laughs; 
The  seconds  smile,  the  doctor  chaffs. 


A  woman,  smiling,  dreams  she  's  wed 
To  —  hush,  to  the  very  one  that 's  dead. 


C&e  Sljrotrtr. 

rT^HE  snow  came  softly,  silently,  down 

Into  the  streets  of  the  dark  old  town; 
And  lo  !  by  the  wind  it  was  swept  and  piled  J 
On  the  sleeping  form  of  a  beggar-child. 


It  kissed  her  cheek,  and  it  filled  her  hair 
With   crystals   that    looked   like   diamonds 

there ; 
And  she  dreamed  that  she  was  a  fair  young 

bride 
In  a  pure  white  dress  by  her  husband's  side. 

blush  crept  over  her  pale  young  face, 
And  her  thin  lips  smiled  with  a  girlish  grace ; 
/'iBut  the  old  storm-king  made  his  boast  alouc 
'    That  his  work  that  night  was  weaving 


T  OVE  has  come  back  —  ah  me,  the  joy !  — 
*"'    Greater  than  when  Love  began 


To  wound  my  heart.    The  jocund  boy ! 
Love  has  come  back  a  gray-haired  man 


His  eyes  are  red  with  tears  of  woe, 
His  cheeks  are  pale,  and  his  heart  is  sore 

But  Love  has  come  back  at  last,  and,  ohl 
Love  will  be  faithful  evermore. 


TV/T  Y  thoughts  are  gliding  down  the  stream 

Ah,  faster  than  the  river  flows  ; 
And  idly  in  my  heart  I  dream 
Of  islands  where  the  lotus  grows. 


I  fear  not  rapids,  waterfall, 

Or  whirlpool  leading  down  to  death 
If  love  but  my  tired  heart  enthrall, 

And  I  may  sip  a  woman's  breath. 


I  care  not  what  may  be  my  fate. 

Roll  on,  mad  river,  to  the  sea ; 
Drown  all  ambition,  pride,  and  hate,  — 

But  leave  one  woman's  love  to  me. 


cannot 
turned  away, 
abhorred. 
:d  —  and  oh  !  she  prayed  for 


SWEET  Phyllis,  maid  of  yesterday, 
Come  down  from  out  that  frame, 
And  tell  me  why  you  looked  so  gay  — 
Likewise  your  other  name. 


Had  bold  Sir  Plume  confessed  his  love 
And  asked  you  if  you  'd  wed  ? 

And  had  he  called  you  "  Lovey-dove  "  ? 
And  how  long  are  you  dead? 


Where  did  you  get  that  wondrous  gown, 
Those  patches,  and  that  hair  ? 

And  how  were  things  in  London  town 
The  last  time  you  were  there? 


And  did  you  die  a  maid  or  wife, 
Your  husband  lord  or  knave  ? 

And  how  did  you  like  this  jolly  life? 
And  how  do  you  like  the  grave  ? 


fS 


UNDER  my  casement,  as  I  pray, 
My  lover  sings  my  cares  away 
With  many  a  half-forgotten  lay. 

He  leans  against  the  linden-tree, 
And  sings  old  songs  of  Arcady 
That  he  knows  well  are  loved  by  me. 

Half  through  the  night  the  sweet  strains  float 
Like  wind-blown  rose-leaves,  note  by  note, 
Over  the  great  wall  and  the  moat, 


Up  to  my  window,  till  they  teem 
Into  my  soul,  and  almost  seem 
To  be  there  even  when  I  dream. 


And  his  heart  trembling  beats  with  bliss 
If  I  but  throw  him  one  small  kiss 
Just  as  I  now  throw  this,  and  this. 


Co  t(je  Knee  in  &et  ^air. 

T)OOR  little  rose,  I  pity  you  — 

Sweet  as  Oporto's  wind  when  fruity — f 
Tortured  an  evil  hour  or  two, 
Just  to  adorn  a  wilful  beauty. 

I  know  her  well,  too  well,  alas ! 

(Just  watch  the  fairy  as  she  dances.) 
She  wears  my  heart  —  but  let  that  pass; 

It 's  dead :   she  killed  it  with  her  glances. 


Your  fate,  poor  rose,  is  such  as  mine, — 
To  be  despised  when  you  are  faded ; 

Yet  she's  an  angel  —  too  divine 
To  be  by  you  or  me  upbraided. 


^er  Eetoetie. 

A    LADY  combed  her  silken  hair. 
~^    None  but  a  looking-glass  would  dare 

To  gaze  on  such  a  scene. 
The  blushes  thronged  her  dimpled  cheek; 
They  coursed  upon  her  shoulders,  eke, 
And  the  white  neck  between. 

And  she  was  thinking  then,  I  trow, 
Of  one  who,  in  a  whispered  vow 

Beneath  the  budding  elm, 
Had  told  her  they  would  sail  their  barque 
On  lakes  where  pale  stars  pierced  the  dark, 

With  Cupid  at  the  helm. 


Anon,  a  faint  smile  pursed  her  lips 
And  shook  her  dainty  finger-tips, 

As  breezes  shake  the  boughs; 
And  then  a  quick,  impetuous  frown 
Came  gathering  from  her  ringlets  down, 

And  perched  upon  her  brows. 


Ah,  she  was  thinking  then,  I  ween, 
Of  me,  poor  clumsy  dunce,  who  e'en 

Had  torn  her  silken  dress. 
I  waltzed  too  near  her  at  the  ball; 
Her  beauty  dazed  me — that  was  all; 

I  felt  a  dizziness. 


Co  38eatttp. 

"S~\H,  Mistress  Beauty,"  said  my  sigh, 

^^^    "  I  'd  laugh  to  scorn  all  other  blisses, 
If  you  and  I  might  live  and  die 
Together  on  such  fare  as  kisses. 

"  Your  kirtle  would  not  be  of  silk, 
The  band  around  it  but  torn  leather. 

I  think  our  wine  would  be  plain  milk; 
I  think  we  'd  oft  see  stormy  weather. 

:  But,  oh,  there  are  some  things  in  life 
Worth  more  to  men  than  fame  or  money ; 

f  one  of  them's  a  sweet  young  wife, 

So  pure,  so  honest,  and  so  bonnie." 


£>reaminff  of 


'  A/T  ^  sou*  ^ee^s  re^res^e^'  like  a  rose  kissed 

by  dew, 

When  waking  I  know  I  've  been  dreaming 
of  you. 

They  thought  I  was  mad.      Ah,  my  sweet, 

if  they  knew 
That  my  malady  simply  was   dreaming 


Please  Eetttrn, 

TV7OW,  all  you  pretty  maids  in  town, 

Take  heed  of  my  sad  plight. 
I  've  lost  a  kiss ;   I  '11  give  a  crown 
To  get  it  back  to-night. 

I  threw  it,  poet-like,  I  own, 

Up  to  a  silvery  star; 
I  must  confess  I  might  have  known 

I  could  not  throw  so  far. 

But,  oh,  surprise!     It  circled  round, 
And  sank  as  though  'twere  laden 

With  love  —  when  almost  to  the  ground 
'T  was  caught  by  some  young  maiden. 


And  that  young  maid  I  wish  to  find. 

I  've  lost  a  kiss,  alack  1 
It  is  not  hers.     She'll  not  be  kind 

Unless  she  give  it  back. 


Almost  Doping  of  (Knntti, 


YirHAT  are  the  charms  of  the  sea? 

Oh  for  an  hour  of  the  city! 
What  are  the  dull  waves  to  me? 
Can  they  say  anything  witty? 


What  do  they  care  for  my  lips? 
Why  did  I  come?     It's  a  pity! 
othing  but  water  and  ships, 
And  Jack  far  away  in  the  city. 


Oh  for  one  ride  in  the  park, 

With  Jack  humming  bars  from  a  ditty 
Kissing  me  (when  it  grows  dark). 

Fy!     Oh  — heigho,  for  the  city! 


"CRESH,  fragrant,  tempting,  balmy,  red 
What  fool  would  send  them  back? 
Why  do  I  wish  that  I  were  dead, 
With  all  these  jacks  from  Jack? 


Why  do  I  bite  my  lips  and  frown, 
Tear  buttons  off  my  sacque, 

When,  just  returning  to  the  town, 
I  get  these  jacks  from  Jack? 


Alas,  for  pleasure's  giddy  whirl, 

For  summer  lost,  alack ! 
He 's  off  to  see  some  other  girl ; 

That's  why  mere  jacks  from  Jack. 


TJYACINTHS,  tenderly  sweet, 

Is  it  life  that  you  ask  in  your  prayer  ? 
Ah,  I  would  die  at  her  feet, 
If  I  could  be  one  of  you  there. 


There  on  her  billowy  breast, 
So  near  to  her  innocent  heart, 

That  its  beating  would  lull  me  to  rest, 
And  to  dream  I  should  never  depart, 


Sighing  are  you  for  the  stars? 

Look  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 
Is  there  a  gem  of  the  Czar's 

So  much  like  those  gems  of  the  skies? 


Is  it  the  dew  that  you  miss  ? 

Hyacinths,  hyacinths,  wait. 
Soon  she  will  give  you  a  kiss. 

Oh,  how  I  envy  your  fate! 


T  IGHT  as  the  waves  foaming  white  on  the 
**  bar, 


We  dance  to  the  mandolin,  harp,  and  guitar ; 
One,  two,  three,  waltzing  we  glide  round  the 

room,  — 
Would  you  were  bride,  and  ah,  would  I  were 

groom ! 


On  all  the  seashore  none  fairer  than  you  ; 
What  but  adore  you  could  any  one  do  ? 
Cheeks  like  the  pink  of  an  evening  sky, 
Eyes  that  might  bid  a  man  laughingly  die. 


Ears  like  the  shells  from  the  Indian  sea, 
Teeth  like  white  buds  on  a  young  apple-tree,' 
Throat  like  a  lily  bent  heavy  with  dew, 
Arms  just  as  white  and  as  lily-like  too. 

V 

Lips  that  would  tempt  —  ah !   you  '11  pardon 

me  now, 

Being  so  near  them  suggests,  you  '11  allow, 
That  the  happiest  thing  e'er  a  mortal  could 

do, 
Would  be  to  be  ever  thus  waltzing  with  you. 


&&e  is  ffiine. 

HTHERE  's  a  sparkle  in  her  eye 

That  no  millionnaire  can  buy. 
If  they  think  so,  let  them  try  — 
She  's  divine. 


There  's  a  blush  upon  her  cheek 
Like  the  peach-tree's  blossom,  eke, 
Like  red  willows  by  the  creek, 
Or  like  wine. 

She  has  roses  in  her  hair. 
It  was  I  who  put  them  there. 
Really,  did  I  ever  dare  — 
Is  she  mine? 


Or  is  it  all  a  dream, — 
Idle  poet's  empty  theme 
Put  in  words  that  make  it  seem 
Superfine  ? 


No;  for  see  upon  her  hand 
There's  a  little  golden  band, — 
Filigree  work,  understand, 
Like  a  vine; 


And  a  perfect  solitaire 
Fits  upon  it.    The  affair 
Cost  two  hundred.     I  don't  care! 
She  is  mine. 


A  H,  good  old  times  of  belles  and  beaux, 
Of  powdered  wigs  and  wondrous  hose, 
Of  stately  airs  and  careful  grace, 
Look  you  at  our  degenerate  race. 


No  more  the  gallant  spends  his  time 
In  writing  of  his  love  in  rhyme; 
No  more  he  lives  unconscious  of 
All  earthly  things  save  war  and  love. 


We  modern  men  have  toils  and  cares 
To  streak  our  pates  with  whitened  hairs 
And  have  to  crowd  our  love  and  all 
Into  one  short  and  weekly  call. 


w 


mi>  lobe. 

rAS  ever  a  moon 
In  joyous  June 
As  royal,  radiant,  rare  as  she, 
With  her  smiling  lips, 
As  she  lightly  trips 
Down  through  the  autumn  woods  to  me? 

Never  a  queen 

On  her  throne,  I  ween, 
Had  such  a  loyal  slave  as  I. 

Ready  to  bear 

All  her  cares,  I  swear, 
Just  for  a  fleeting  kiss  on  the  sly. 

Oh  for  the  day 

We  gallop  away 
To  the  curate's  cottage,  Gretna  Green; 

Side  by  side, 

Groom  and  bride, 
Happy  twenty  and  sweet  sixteen ! 


€&e  jFarctoell. 


TVTOT  going  abroad  ?     What,  to-morrow, 
And  to  stay,  goodness  knows  for  how 


long? 

Really,  Jack,  't  would  appear  that  dry  sorrow 
Had  done  even  you,  sir,  a  wrong. 

It  has  ?    Ha,  ha,  ha !     What  a  joke,  sir  I 

Is  it  Mabel  or  Jenny  or  Nell  ? 
I  'm  sure  you  are  wrong,  —  hold  my  cloak, 

sir,— 
Am  I  not  an  old  friend  ?     Come  now,  tell. 


The  prince  of  our  set  broken-hearted ! 

What  a  joke  !  Who  rejected  you  ?    Speak ! 
Did  you  look  like  that,  Jack,  when  you  parted  ? 

Was  that  pallor  of  death  on  your  cheek  ? 


You  interest  me.     Tell  me  about  it ; 

And  let  your  old  chum,  sir,  console. 
Hard  hit  in  the  heart.     I  don't  doubt  it ; 

You  were  made  for  that  sort  of  a  role. 

Did  you  bend  on  your  knee,  like  an  actor, 
Hardly  knowing  just  where  to  begin  ? 

Was  dear  mamma's  consent  the  main  factor  ? 
What  a  fool  the  poor  girl  must  have  been ! 

Who  was  she?  What!  — I?— You  were 
jealous  ? 

O,  Jack,  who  'd  have  thought  such  a  thing  ? 
You  've  been  certainly  not  over-zealous. 

But  kiss  me  —  and  where  is  the  ring? 


Che  Last  Dante. 

AN  INCIDENT  IN  A  WINDOW  SEAT. 

He :     Well,  how  many  conquests  ?    I  fancy 

a  score 
By  the  flush  on  your  cheeks  and  your 

shoulders. 

She:  A  bore! 

He:     Oh,  nonsense;  a  debutante  just  out  of 

school 
Who  can  rule  with   a  smile  what  a 

king  could  not  rule, 
From   young    Harry,   her    prince,   to 

myself,  her  poor  fool! 
Come,  tell  me,  did  Harry  propose  ? 

What  a  goose 
You  would  think  me  to  tell  you, 

then  of  what  use 
Could  it  be? 


- 


He:      Well,   it  might  give  me  hope,  where 

before 
There  was  none,  —  quite  a  boon  from 

the  lips  you  adore 
When  you  're  hungry  for  love. 
She    (coquetting)  :     Or   who    knows    but    it 

might  — 

He :     Yes,  it  might  blot  from  life  every  sem- 
blance of  light 
As  the  clouds  blot  the  moon  on  a 

storm-troubled  night. 
But  tell  me. 
She:    He  did. 

He  :  And  your  answer  was  ? 

She:  No. 

He:     You  mean  it,  or  are  you  coquetting 
yet? 


K3 


'Ste:  °h! 

I  just  told  him  I  cared  for  another- 

he  smiled. 
It  was  merely  to  him  so  much  pleasure 

beguiled 
From  a  girl.    Charge  it  up  profit?  — 

loss  ?  _  tell  me  which  ? 
He  thinks  I  am  pretty,  they  say,  but, 

not  rich. 

He  would  love  me,  perhaps,  for  a  sea- 
son or  two, 

So  I  told  him  that  I  loved  another. 
He.  And  who? 

She  (archly} :  Really,  must  I  te\\you? 
ffe :  No  —  your  finger  —  yes,  this ! 

A  solitaire  —  done  1   and  now  quickly ! 
She  (feigning  reluctance) :  One ! 

He  (ecstatically) : 


Wity  fte 


for  a  Vacation. 


DEAR  Jack: 
It 's  delightfully  gay  here,  - 
Old  Paris  seemed  never  so  fine,  — 
And  mamma  says  we  're  going  to  stay  here, 

And  papa  —  well,  papa  sips  his  wine 
And  says  nothing.     You  know  him  of  old, 

dear. 

He  's  only  too  happy  to  rest,  — 
After  making  three  millions  in  gold,  dear. 

He 's  played  out,  it  must  be  confessed,  — 
And  I  —  I  'm  to  wed  an  old  Baron 

Three  weeks  from  to-day,  in  great  style 
,  (He  's  as  homely  and  gaunt  as  old  Charon, 

And  they  say  that  his  past  has  been  vile) ; 

And  I  've  promised  to  cut  you  hereafter,  — 

Small  chance,  though,  we  ever  shall  meet,- 

So  let 's  turn  our  old  love  into  laughter, 

And  face  the  thing  through.      Shall 

sweet  ? 


:  Can  you  give  me  up,  Jack,  to  this  rout, 
Just  because  we  may  always  be  poor  ? 
There 's  still  enough  time,  dear,  et  tu  es 
Un  brave,  —  you  will  come,  I  am  sure. 
Put  your  trunk  on  the  swiftest  Cunarder, 
And  don't  give  me  up,  Jack,  for  —  well, 
There  are  things  in  this  world  that  are  harder 
Than  poverty.     Come  to  me ! 

NELL." 


, 


Cfje 


Valentine. 


/T>HE  editor  sat  in  his  old  arm-chair 

(Half  his  work  undone  he  was  well 

aware), 
While    the    flickering    light   in     the   dingy 

room 
Made  the  usual  newspaper  office  gloom. 

Before  him  news  from  the  North  and  South, 

A  long  account  of  a  foreign  drouth, 

A  lot  of  changes  in  local  ads., 

The  report  of  a  fight  between  drunken  cads, 

And  odds  and  ends  and  smoke  and  talk,  — 
A  reporter  drawing  cartoons  in  chalk 
On  the  dirty  wall,  while  others  laughed, 
And  one  wretch  whistled,  and  all  of  them 
chaffed. 


But  the  editor  leaned  far  back  in  his  chair  i 
He  ran  his  hands  through  his  iron-gray  hair, 
And  stole  ten  minutes  from  work  to  write 
A  valentine  to  his  wife  that  night. 

i 

He  thought  of  metre,  he  thought  of  rhyme. 
'Twas  a  race  between  weary  brains  and 

time. 

He  tried  to  write  as  he  used  to  when 
His  heart  was  as  young  as  his  untried  pen. 

He  started  a  sonnet,  but  gave  it  up. 
A  rondeau  failed  for  a  rhyme  to  "cup." 
And  the  old  clock  ticked  his  time  away, 
For  the  editor's  mind  would  go  astray. 


vS 

He   thought   of   the  days  when   they  were; 

young, 

And  all  but  love  to  the  winds  was  flung, 
He  thought  of  the  way  she  used  to  wear 
Her  wayward  tresses  of  golden  hair. 

He  thought  of  the  way  she  used  to  blush. 
He  thought  of  the  way  he  used  to  gush. 
And  a  smile  and  a  tear  went  creeping  down 
The  face  that  so  long  had  known  a  frown. 


And  this  is  what  the  editor  wrote: 
Jo  poem  —  merely  a  little  note, 

iple  and  manly,  but  tender,  too; 
Three    little    words  —  they   were,  "  I  love 
you." 


Ah,  my  arms    hold   you  fast,  and   my  lif 

touch  your  cheek, 
And  I  'm  crying,  "  Love,  answer  me ;  spe£ 

to  me  —  speak !  " 

And   the   answer   you  give   to   my  longing 

distress 
Is  that  word,  with  a  blush  and  a  kiss,  that 

word  "  Yes." 

Ah,  my  arms  hold  you  fast,  and  I  burn  with 

a  fire 
That   nothing    but    long-waiting    love    can 

inspire. 

;t  I  know  you  mean  nothing  —  mean  noth- 
ing, because 

[t 's  mere  acting.      Ah  me,  I  can  hear 
applause. 


A  -ATANA  she  was  here. 

A-atana  I  was  dear. 
She  will  never  come  again. 
Chill  my  heart,  O  wind  and  rain. 
A-atana  she  was  here. 

Hark,  the  wind  asks  "  Hi-you  ?  " 

And  I  answer  "A-coo, 
Ustey  with  your  bitter  cold; 
U-ga-sha,  my  love  of  old." 

Still  the  wind  asks  "  Hi-you  ?  " 

1  A -atana,  yesterday.  Hi-you,  where.  A-coo,  hers. 
U's-tey,  come,  or  bring.  U'-ga-sha,  go,  or  take. 
A  -oo,  yes.  I  have  no  authority  for  the  spelling  of  these 
words.  I  rendered  them  phonetically  from  the  pronun- 
ciation of  a  young  Apache  whom  I  hired  to  teach  me 
the  language.  Many  Apache  words  have  no  percepti- 
ble accent.  A,  here,  has  the  sound  of  a  in  father. 


"Hi-you?"  I  know  not  where 

A-oo,  I  hardly  care. 
Take  it  to  the  land  of  snow; 
Take  it  where  the  stars  all  go. 

"Hi-you?"    I  do  not  care* 


It-sau-i  did  it  all  — 
It-sau-i,  proud  and  tall. 

Tell  her  I  have  gone  to  fight. 

Ask  her  if  her  heart  is  light. 
It-sau-i  did  it  all. 


TP  HE  RE  's  an  old-fashioned  girl  in  an  ol 

fashioned  street, 
Dressed  in  old-fashioned  clothes  from  her 

head  to  her  feet; 

And  she   spends  all  her  time  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way 
Of  caring  for  poor  people's  children  all  day. 


She  never  has  been  to  cotillon  or  ball, 
e  knows  not  the  styles  of  tl 


To  a  fellow  who  died  in  an  old  coat 
With  its  buttons  all  brass  —  who  is 


Retroepert. 

T  WAS  poor  as  a  beggar,  —  she  knew  it, — 

But  proud  as  a  king  through  it  all; 
Though  it  cost  me  two  dollars  to  do  it, 
I  took  little  Meg  to  the  ball. 


Mere  calico  served  her  for  satin ; 

My  broadcloth  was  made  of  blue  jeans. 
Without  crest  or  a  motto  in  Latin, 

Meg's  style  was  as  grand  as  a  queen's. 


And  we  were  in  dreamland  all  through  it, 
And  I  do  not  regret  it  at  all ; 

Though  it  cost  me  two  dollars  to  do  it, 
I  took  little  Meg  to  the  ball. 


T  GUESS  that  I'm  done  for,  old  chappie ! 

Done,  whether  she  loves  me  or  not,  — 
But  don't  look  so  deuced  unhappy,  — 
Y'  know  it  was  I  fired  the  shot. 


Thanks,  awfully.     Give  me  the  whiskey, 
There  's  a  horrible  pain  in  my  head ; 

It 's  queer  that  my  nerves  should  be  frisky 
When  my  heart  is  as  heavy  as  lead. 


r  I 


I  'm  worthless ;  I  own  it !  She  told  me, 
That  night  at  the  Country  Club  ball,— 

Don't  try,  dear  old  fellow,  to  hold  me,  — 
Ah,  Nellie !  —  it 's  over !  —  don't  call ! 

She  told  me  my  life  had  been  wasted, 
That  my  money  had  ruined  my  mind, 

That  I  'd  not  left  a  pleasure  untasted,  — 
Had  been  a  disgrace  to  mankind ! 


And  now  she  's  to  marry  another,  — 
A  poor  man,  but  honest  and  strong, 

Who  had  never  a  passion  to  smother, 
And  never  a  chance  to  do  wrong. 


He  loves  her.    They'll  all  think  it  funny 
I  don't  curse  him  and  kill  him,  old  fel ; 

But   she   loves   him.       I  've   left    him    my 
money,  — 

For  I   love  her  — God    bless    her!      Fare- 
well! 


Eejectei. 

A  W,  yes,  bah  Jove.     I  thought  you  'd 

swer  "No." 

But  still  a  fellah 's  got  to  awsk,  you  see. 

And  then  there  was  the  chance  you  might 

outgrow 
That  way  you  had  of  making  fun  of  me. 


Three  years  in  Europe  sometimes  make  a 

change 
In   girls  like  you,  who  've    always   been 

adored ; 
And  when  you  laughed,  I  thought  it 

ther  strange. 

Aw,  I  beg  pawdon ;  p'haps  you  feel,  aw 
bored. 


You  don't?     You  think  it  fun  — a  fellah's 

pains 
At  words  like  yours  ?   You  don't  know  how 

they  smart. 

I  know  you  think  I  have  n't  any  brains ; 
But   still,  Miss   Nellie,   I've   a  — I've   a 

heart. 


f)rr 


Cap. 


O1 


,  the  little  yachting  cap 
That  is  lying  in  her  lap 
Has  a  sort  of  fascination  for  poor  me. 
It  is  made  of  something  white, 
And  she  wears  it  day  and  night, 
Through  the  weeks  she  spends  each  summer" 
by  the  sea. 

She  can  make  of  it  a  fan, 

And,  when  necessary,  can 
Hide  her  face  behind  it,  if  she  chance  to 
blush. 

It  has  carried  caramels, 

Chocolate  drops,  and  pretty  shells, 
And  I've  even  seen  her  use  it  as  a  brush., 


She  is  darting  warning  glances. 
Well,  under  certain  circumstances, 
visor's  always  getting  in  my  way. 


'T^HE  moonlight  steals  around  the  pine ; 
Star-eyes  steal  radiance  from  thine. 


Low  music  steals  upon  the  ear; 

Can  there  be  theft  when  thou  art  near  ? 


I  steel  my  heart  for  fear  of  this,  — 
I  steel  my  heart  and  steal  a  kiss. 


I  'd  steal  the  sacramental  wine 
If  it  were  sweet  as  kiss  of  thine! 


T  PAUSE  before  her  mirror  and  reflect 
(That 's  what  the  mirror  does,  I   take 

it,  too); 

Reflect  how  little  it  has  known  neglect, 
And    think,  "  O    mirror,    would    that    I 
were  you." 


She  has  no  secrets  that  you  do  not  know, 
You  and  yon  crescent  box  of  poudre  de 
rose. 

And  even  these  long  curling-irons  can  show 
Much  evidence  of  use,  yet  naught  disclose. 


Here,  when  she  smiles,  you  know  it  is  her 

teeth 

She  's  putting  to  the  test  ere  she  depart 
For  the  gay  revel  on  the  lawn  beneath, 
Or  moonlight   ramble   that  may  break  a 
heart. 


^Here  she  may  blush,  until  she,  red  as  wine, 
Iff*    Knows  that  her  triumphs  have  not  ceased 

to  be. 
Here,   when    she    frowns,    and    looks    still 

more  divine, 

You   know,  wise  mirror,  that  she    thinks 
of  me. 


Point  Comfort. 


YOU  don't  think  of  dresses,  or  ducats, 
dukes ; 

You  don't  care  for  chaperone's  rigid  rebukes  ;*• 
It 's  just  simply  grand, 
To  lie  there  on  the  sand, 

Down  at  the  beach, — 
If  a  man  's  within  reach. 

Some  like  the  moonlight  and  some  like  the 

sun, 

Some  flirt  in  earnest  and  some  flirt  in  fun ; 
It 's  worth  all  the  rash, 
Reckless  spending  of  cash, 
All  the  dresses  you  spoil, 
All  the  tempers  you  roil, 

Down  at  the  beach, — 
If  a  man's  within  reach. 


's   better   than   sleigh-rides,   cotillons,   or  I 

teas, 
makes  the  dull  Patriarch's  knickerbocked 

knees 

Shake  in  the  dance, 
And  then  one  has  a  chance, 
If  one  's  pretty  and  smart, 
With  a  tongue  not  too  tart, 
Of  presenting  papaw 
With  a  new  son-in-law, 

Down  at  the  beach,— 
If  a  man  's  within  reach. 


a  £)rop  Coo  jflttcf). 

T  PRAISED  her  hair,  I  praised  her  lips,     v 

She  looked  up  with  surprise; 
I  bowed  to  kiss  her  finger-tips, 
And  then  she  dropped  her  eyes. 

I  said  love  ruled  the  world;   that  I 

Adored  her;   called  her  "Nan." 
She  merely  looked  a  little  shy, 

And  then  she  dropped  her  fan. 

I  took  the  hint,  and  at  her  feet 

I  knelt  —  yes,  quite  absurd ; 
But  oh,  my  fond  heart  wildly  beat 

To  hear  her  drop  a  word. 

I  told  her  all :   my  talents  few, 

My  direful  lack  of  pelf. 
(We  all  have  erred.)     She  said  "Adieu," 

And  then  dropped  me  myself. 


T  AST  night  young  Cupid  lost  his  way, 

And  came  to  me  to  find  it. 
He'd  been  a  truant  all  the  day, 
But  didn't  seem  to  mind  it. 


I  put  him  in  a  hansom  then 
For  home,  and  feed  the  cabby; 

But  my  reward  was  what  most  men 
Would  call  extremely  shabby. 


He  got  his  bow  and  arrows  out, 
And  pierced  my  heart,  nor  tarried, 

But  drove  away  ere  I  could  shout, 
"  Great  Heavens,  Cupe,  I  'm  married!  " 


Jeto  Resolutions. 

(With.  Reservations) 

TTE  shall  never  know  that  I  love  him- 
'**    Until  he  asks  if  I  do. 
And  I'll  feel  very  much  above  him  — 
When  he  stoops  to  tie  my  shoe. 

And  I  shall  never  kiss  him  — 

Until  he  kisses  me. 
And  I  shall  never  miss  him  — 

Till  he  sails  over  the  sea. 

And  I  shall  never  wed  him, 

Nor  call  myself  his  bride  — 
Till  Cupid  and  I  have  led  him 

Right  up  to  the  minister's  side. 


&  t 
G 

72 


f 


Dilemma. 

A    LETTER  for  me, 

From  the  girl  that  I  love! 
Just  penned  by  her  hand 
And  caressed  by  her  glove. 
A  jewel — a  gem  —  ah  1 
A  letter  from  Emma. 

A  letter  for  me, 

Oh,  what  joy,  what  surprise! 
Just  kissed  by  her  lips  — 
At  least,  blest  by  her  eyes. 
'Tis  opened  —  ahem,  ah! 
A  letter  from  Emma. 

A  letter  for  me, 

From  my  sweet  little  bird. 
Eight  pages,  by  Jove! 
And  I  can't  read  a  word. 
A  precious  dilemma, 
This  letter  from  Emma! 


Cljnice  not  JQecessarp. 


ERE  is  a  rose, 

Here  is  a  kiss; 
Which  do  you  choose? 

One  rhymes  with  prose; 
One  rhymes  with  bliss. 
Ah,  you  amuse. 


You  hesitate, 
You  blush,  you  sigh. 
What!   are  you  loath? 


ER  voice  is  sweet, 

Her  style  is  neat; 
She  'd  move  the  world  with  but 
Her  mind  is  clear; 
Her  sight,  though  near, 
Is  long  enough  to  capture  men. 
What  matters  it  her  learning,  then? 


TTE    looked    so    handsome, 
brave, 

As  he  stood  there,  straight  and  tall, 
With  his  steadfast  eyes,  so  gray,  so  grave, 

The  beau  of  the  Hunt  Club  ball. 


Ah  me,  full  many  a  white  breast  sighed 
For  the  favor  of  his  hand, — 

For  the  love  of  a  heart  so  true,  so  tried, 
For  life,  you  understand. 


He  looked  a  hero;    he  was  more, 

A  martyr,  too,  perchance ; 
For  he  went  to  the  oldest  girl  on  the  floor 

And  led  her  out  to  dance. 


Clje  Inject  §nmmrr  (Sirl. 
1C 

OHE    has    hair    that    is    fluffy,    straight 

banged,  or  half  curled; 
Has   a   parasol,    oft    by    her    deft    fingers' 

twirled. 
~\    She  has   eyes   either  brown  or  black,  gray 

or  true  blue; 

Has  a  neat  fitting  glove  and  a  still  neater 
shoe. 


She  has  cheeks  that  make  bitter  the  envi- 
ous rose; 

has  trunks  upon  trunks  of  the  costliest  ( 
clothes ; 
;]     She  has  jewels  that  shine  as  the  stars 


> 


She  knows  nothing  much,  but  she  's  great 

on  the  smile; 
Her   profession   is  love,   and  she   flirts  all 

the  while  ; 
She's*  accustomed  to  sitting   on    rocks   in 

the  glen; 
She  is  also  accustomed  to  sitting  on  men. 


A    DAINTY  thing  of  sUk  and  lace, 

Of  feathers,  and  of  paint, 
Held  often  to  her  laughing  face 
When  I  assume  the  saint. 


Too  dainty  far  to  mix  with  these 
Old  pipes,  cigars,  and  books 

Of  bachelordom,  —  rare  life  of  ease, — 
Rare  friends,  rare  wines,  rare  cooks. 


'Twill  smell  of  stale  tobacco  smoke 

Ere  many  days  I  fear, 
And  hear  full  many  a  rattling  joke, 

And  feel,  perhaps,  a  tear. 


Why  is  it  here?    Alas  for  me! 

I  broke  it  at  a  ball. 
"Apologize  —  repair  it."     See? 

Five  dollars  gone,  — that's  all. 


"PHYLLIS,  love  may  be  for  you, 

But  it  is  not  for  me ; 
For  fortune  comes  between  us  two 
And  says  it  must  not  be. 


Another  fellow's  fortune,  too; 

A  million,  as  I  know. 
You  ask  me  how  I  found  it  out? 

Your  mater  told  me  so. 


VT7HEN  Phyllis  turned  her  eyes  on  me 

I  blushed  and  hesitated; 
For  though  on  terms  familiar,  we 
Were  not  at  all  related. 


I  felt  her  mild,  reproachful  glance, 
And  knew  her  words  would  rankle. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  had,  by  chance, 
Been  looking  at  her  ankle. 


I  answered  cunningly,  "  Ah  me, 
I  've  sisters  by  the  dozen ; 

Please  make  it  in  the  next  degree, 
For  one  may  wed  a  cousin." 


Oh,  her  i's,  her  beautiful  i's  ! 
Who  can  tell  them  apart  though  he  tries 
From  her  m's 

Or  her  e's, 
N's,  or  u's 

As  you  please 
In  her  letters?    I  offer  a  prize. 


JUST  a  little  melancholy, 
Just  a  tear  or  two, 
Just  a  word  that  *s  naughty 
Just  a  spiteful  "pooh!  " 


Just  an  extra  cocktail, 
Just  a  flower-bill  due, 

Just  another  ring  to  take 
Unto  my  friend,  the  Jew. 

That  is  what  it  is  to  be 
Rejected,  Miss,  by  you. 


n  ber 


VHE  looked  up  from  her  pew 

(Why  she  did,  Heaven  knows); 
But  I  smiled ;   would  n't  you  ? 
'Twas  the  right  thing  to  do; 
And,  pshaw,  nobody  knew. 

Then  I  tried  hard  to  pose, 
But  a  look  of  hers  froze 
All  my  blood.     And  I  woo 
Her  in  future,  old  chappie,  when  not  in  her 
pew. 


^ 


Cbe 


iober  to  tljr 


S~\  SILVER  star, 

^     That  seeth  far, 
Tell  my  poor  heart  what  she  is  doing; 

And  ease  my  pain, 

Who  would  again 
Be  at  her  side,  and  still  be  wooing. 

Does  she  regret 

The  token  set 
By  me  upon  her  slender  finger  ? 

Or  in  the  dance 

Do  her  eyes  glance 
At  it  sometimes,  —  and  sometimes  linger? 

Be,  silver  star, 

Particular, 
And  do  not  be  afraid  of  hurting. 

I  know  her  well, 

And  truth  to  tell, 
I  fear  my  lady  love  is  flirting. 


HwrprtBie. 


/"^OME,  lovely  Laura!   strike  the  lyre, 

And  I  will  sing  a  song  to  thee 
That  will  thy  maiden  heart  inspire 
With  love,  and  love  alone  for  me. 


Why  hesitate?    Come,  strike  the  lyre! 

Down  where  the  chord  is  minor  D. 
Of  wooing  thee  I  '11  never  tire. 

Good  gracious !     Why  do  you  strike  me  ? 


^HROUGH  all  the  days  I  courted  her 

My  memory  fondly  floats, 
When  love  and  I  exhorted  her 
To  read,  re-read  my  notes. 


But  now  I  love  her  ten  times  more, 

And  my  soul  fairly  gloats 
To  think  that  my  hard  times  are  o'er, — 

For  now  she  pays  my  notes. 


Cfje 


'T^HREE  young  maidens  sat  in  a  row, 

With  three  grim  dragons  behind  'em ; 
And  each  of  these  maidens  had  a  young 

beau, 
And  they  all  of  'em  made  'em  mind  'em. 


difference  in 


OWEET  Phyllis  sat  upon  a  stile, 
^     With  love  and  me  beside  her, 
Her  red  lips  in  a  pouting  smile. 
A  pout?    Her  eyes  belied  her. 


My  thoughts  were  merry  as  the  day, — 
And  though  the  joke  was  shocking, — 

I  shouted  quick,  and  turned  away: 
"  A  spider  *s  on  your  stocking !  " 

The  fun,  of  course,  I  did  not  see, 

But  heard  an  exclamation 
That  sounded  much   like  "Gracious  me! 

And  guessed  the  consternation. 

Then  Phyllis  sat  upon  the  style 
Of  men  who  would  deride  her; 

But  she  no  longer  sits  the  while 
With  love  and  me  beside  her. 


5 


TTVOWN  the  broad  stairs, 

Stranger  to  cares, 
My   love   comes   tripping  and  smiling  and 

free; 

The  snows  on  her  breast 
Are  a  blush  unconfessed. 


I  wonder  what  fate  has  in  waiting  for  me  ? 
'  ''^"V) 

My  heart  seems  to  throb 

Like  a  broken-paced  cob; 
I  fear  I'm  a  coward  in  love,  as  they  say. 

She 's  commencing  to  laugh  ; 

How  the  fellows  will  chaff. 
By  Jove,  I'm  not  going  to  ask  her  to-day. 


Eetort  (^asperating. 


"OWEETE    maide,"   ye   lovesicke   youthe 
*  remarked, 

"  Thou  'rt  fickle  as  my  star ! 
By  far  ye  worste  I  ever  sparked, 

You  are !     You  really  are  ! 

Albeit  yt  my  brains  are  nil, 

I  'm  gallante  as  can  be ; 
I  'lie  be  to  you  whate'er  you  wille, 

If  you  'lie  be  more  to  me." 

"  Faire  youthe,"  ye  maide  replied,  "  I  do 

Not  barter,  as  a  rule, 
But  I  'lie  be  sister  untoe  you,  — 

Be  you  my  Aprille  foole." 


There  came  a  rival  old  and  bold, 

To  make  him  rhyme  with  gold  and  sold. 


,  treat  me  not  with  cold  disdain, 
My  pretty  maids  of  fashion ; 
Look  upon  the  hearts  you  've  slain, 
And  listen  to  my  passion. 


Though  I  am  not  so  peerly  proud 

As  men  of  higher  station, 
So  handsome  that  the  madding  crowd 

Collects  in  admiration; 


And  have,  perhaps,  too  great  a  store 
Of  sandy  hair  and  freckles, 

I  've  mortgages  and  bonds  galore, 
And  muchly  many  shekels. 


You  yet  may  journey  league  or  mile 

To  wed,  as  you  're  aware. 
Come,  cease  your  longing  for  mere  style, 

And  take  A.  MILLIONNAIRE 


OHE  stands  beneath  the  mistletoe 
As  though  she  did  not  know  it. 
She  looks  quite  unconcerned,  you  know 
And  pretty,  yes,  —  but,  blow  it, 


I  have  to  turn  and  walk  away; 

I  '11  have  revenge  anon. 
She  knows  quite  well,  alack  the  day, 

That  my  wife  is  looking  on. 


A  LL  one  season 
"^^    Lost  to  reason, 
Breathing  sea  air 
By  the  beach,  where 

Young  hearts  mingle, 
Love  was  playful 
All  the  day  full. 

We  were  single. 


Now  with  mournful 
Looks  and  scornful 
Turns  he  too  us; 
He  is  through  us, 

Worried,  harried. 
Love  is  sighing; 
Love  is  dying. 

We  are  married. 


©n  Ctoo  letters  from  |)er. 

WROTE  her  a  letter.    It  took  her  quite 


To  answer  it  after  she'd  read  it. 
My  letter  contained  what  perhaps  even  you 
Have  written,  —  at   least,  you  have  said  it. 

My  letter  contained  the  old  tale  of  a  heart 
That  longed  to  be  linked  to  another; 

And  I  told  her  to  think  on  each  separate 

part, 
And  ask  the  advice  of  her  mother. 


She  apparently  did,  for  the  very  next  mail 
Brought  me  a  message  of  woe. 

,  It  took  her  two  letters  ;  they  made  me  turn 

pale; 
For  they  were  the  letters  "N"  "O". 


—  en 

QOUS  le  maple,  mort  de  night, 

Avec  le  lune  beams  shining  through 
Ecoutez-moi,  mon  hapless  plight. 
Je  vous  aime  —  qui  lovez-vous  ? 


Je  plink  les  strings  de  mon  guitar. 

II  fait  bien  f roid ;   J  'am  nervous,  too. 
Dites-moi,  dites-moi  ce  que  vous  are  ? 

Je  vous  aime  ;   qui  lovez-vous  ? 

"u  es  si  belle,  je  veux  vous  wed. 
Mon   pere   est   riche  —  comme    riche 

you? 

47/r^    Bonne  nuit,  adieu ;   J  'ai  cold  in  head. 
Je  vous  aime  —  qui  lovez-vous. 


<0itl  saps  "  Bo. 


W 


'HEN  a  girl  says  "Yes," 

There's  a  quick  caress, 
A  kiss,  a  sigh, 
A  melting  eye. 
There's  a  vision  of  things 
That  hard  cash  brings,— 
A  winter  at  Nice 
With  a  servant  apiece, 
A  long  yachting  cruise, 
Name  in  "personal  news," 
Plenty  of  wine, 
Two  hours  to  dine ; 

But  it  's  different  quite  when  a  girl  says 
:  No." 


When  a  girl  says  "No," 
It 's  so  different,  oh  ! 
No  kiss,  ten  sighs, 
Two  tear-dimmed  eyes. 
There 's  a  vision  of  things 
That  poverty  brings,— 
A  winter  complete 
On  Uneasy  Street, 
A  temptation  to  rob, 
A  twelve-dollar  job, 
A  boarding-house  meal, 
And  you  pray  a  new  deal; 
For  it  's   different   quite   when  a  girl   says 
"  No." 


ENNY  has  a  laughing  eye, 
Yet  she  is  most  wondrous  shy. 

But  why? 


Jenny  says  she  hates  the  men ; 
Still  she  11  marry.      Artful  Jen ! 

But  when? 


I  've  a  rival  who  is  rich ; 

With  one  of  us  sweet  Jen  will  hitch. 

But  which  ? 


bcr  ^Peculiarities. 


The  Question  of  the  Learned  Man. 


TJOW  doth  the  little  blushing  maid 

Employ  each  shining  hour? 
Doth  she,  in  sober  thought  arrayed, 
Learn  knowledge  that  is  power? 


Say,  doth  she  mend  her  father's  socks 
And  cook  his  evening  meal? 

And  doth  she  make  her  own  sweet  frocks 
With  adolescent  zeal? 


The  Reply  of  the  Observant  Youth, 


Not  much  ;  not  much.    She  knows  it  all ; 

She  doth  not  need  to  learn. 
She  thinks  of  naught  but  rout  or  ball, 

And  which  youth  will  be  her'n. 


She  hustles  for  a  diamond  ring; 

She  cares  not  for  her  dad. 
She  does  not  make  him  anything, — 

Except,  she  makes  him  mad. 


Jottings  of  fret  is>\)Qt. 


the  strings  of  her  shoe, 
With  only  the  moon  to  see  me. 
Could  I  be  quick  ?    Could  you  ? 
That  is  the  time  to  woo. 
What  would  any  one  do  ? 

I  tied  no  knot  that  would  free  me, 
Tying  the  strings  of  her  shoe, 
With  only  the  moon  to  see  me. 


iSacIjcIor's 


A 


PIPE,  a  book, 
A  cosy  nook, 
A  fire,  —  at  least  its  embers ; 

A  dog,  a  glass  ;  — 
'T  is  thus  we  pass 
Such  hours  as  one  remembers. 

Who  'd  wish  to  wed  ? 
Poor  Cupid  's  dead 
These  thousand  years,  I  wager. 
The  modern  maid 
Is  but  a  jade, 
Not  worth  the  time  to  cage  her. 

In  silken  gown 

To  "  take  "  the  town 
Her  first  and  last  ambition. 

What  good  is  she 

To  you  or  me 
Who  have  but  a  "  position  "  ? 


So  let  us  drink 
To  her,  — but  think 

Of  him  who  has  to  keep  her; 
And  sans  a  wife 
Let 's  spend  our  life 

In  bachelordom,  —  it 's  cheaper. 


AT  A  pauvre  petite, 
'LV1  My  little  sweet 

Why  do  you  cry? 
Why  this  small  tear, 
So  pure  and  clear, 

In  each  blue  eye  ? 


'My  cigarette  — 
I  'm  smoking  yet?' 

(I'll  be  discreet.) 
I  toss  it,  see, 
Away  from  me 

Into  the  street. 


You  see  I  do 

All  things  for  you. 

Come,  let  us  sup. 
(But  oh,  what  joy 
To  be  that  boy 

Who  picked  it  up.) 


x^ 


Dtacobereto. 

AN  EPISODE  ON   BEACON   HILL. 

'YT'OU  are  frowning; 
I  don't  wonder. 
Reading  Browning; 
Hard  as  thunder  1 


Oh,  excuse  me; 

You  adore  it? 
You  amuse  me; 

I  abhor  it. 


Let  me  see  it. 

Who  has  taught  you  ? 
Now  to  me  it  — 

Ah,  I  've  caught  you. 


It  must  be  hard  so 
(Hence  the  frown?) 

To  read  the  bard  so  — 
Upside  down. 


€&e  fee  in  tjje  Ptuu&* 

npHE  wail  of  the  'cello  is  soft,  sweet,  and 
low; 

There  are  strains  of  romance  in  the  thrum- 
ming banjo. 

The  violin's  note  —  feel  it  float  in  your  ear ; 

And  the  harp  makes  one  fancy  that  angels 
are  near. 


The   voice   of  a  young   girl    can  reach   to 

the  heart ; 

The  song  of  the  baritone  —  well,  it  is  art. 
The    flute   and    the   lute  in    gavotte  —  the 

guitar 

In  soft  serenade  —  how  entrancing  they  are  ! 
But  to  all  the  mad  millions 
Who  dance  at  cotillons 
There  's  naught  like  the  clink  and  the  clank 

and  the  crunch 
Of  the  ice  in  the  punch. 


;  So  here  's  to  the  recipe,  ancient  in  Spain, 
And  here's   to   the    basket  of    cobwebbed 

champagne. 
Again  to  the  genius  who  grows  the  sharp 

spice, 

But  ten  times  to  King  Winter  who  furnishes 
ice; 

For  to  all  the  mad  millions 
Who  dance  at  cotillons 
ire  's  naught  like  the  clink  and  the  clank 

and  the  crunch 
Of  the  ice  in  the  punch. 


r% 


C&e  Cale  of  a  33rofeen 

OHE  was  a 
^        Beautiful, 
Dutiful, 

Grand, 

And  rollicking  queen  of  Bohemia, 
With  a  cheek  that  was 
Rosier, 
Cosier, 

And 
As  soft  as  a  lily,  and  creamier. 


She  was  always  com- 
pelling me, 
Selling  me, 

I 

Was  her  slave,  but  she  treated  me  shame- 
fully. 

She  went  on  the 
Stage,  was  a 
Rage,  as  a  — 
Why  — 


v^M: 


tf 


As  a  page,  and  they  spoke  of  her  blar 
fully. 

And  then  in  the 
Papers  her 
Capers  were 
Writ. 


I  love  her  no  longer,  —  I  swear  it; 

But  I  oft  spend  a 

Dollar  and 

Holler  and 

Sit 
Through  her  antics.    Oh,  how  can  I  bear  it  ? 


UiQ  pott  jet  it? 

T)RAY,  ladies,  ye  of  wondrous  clothes, 
That  draw  admiring  "  ahs !  "  and  "  ohs ! ' 

And  "  By  Joves  !  "  as  men  chat, 
Permit  me,  —  love  the  right  bestows, — 

Where  did  you  get  that  hat? 

The  very  hat,  sweet  maids,  I  mean, 
So  often  now  on  Broadway  seen, 

That  is  so  very  flat; 
Black  as  a  rule,  but  sometimes  green. 

Where  did  you  get  that  hat  ? 

In  shape  an  oyster-dish,  —  the  crown,  — 
A  ribbon  bristles  up  and  down, 

Quite  striking  —  yes,  all  that ; 
sweetest,  neatest  thing  in  town ! 

Where  did  you  get  that  hat  ? 


"  MO!"    The  word 

Fell  upon  my  ears 
Like  the  knell  of  a  funeral  bell. 
I  had  fondly  expected 
A  whispered  "yes"  that 
Would  steal  into  my  soul 
Like  the  song  of  an  angel 
From  some  distant  Aidenn. 
I  arose  and  brushed  off 
The  knees  of  my  trousers. 
"  Farewell,"  I  said ;   "  you  have   ruined  my 

life." 
"  Nonsense,"  she  replied  in  the  cold,  cutting 

voice 
Of  a  woman  who  has  been    used  to  $100 ' 

bills 
And  a  coupe; 


"There  have  been  thirty-seven   before 

and  they 

Are  all  married  and  happy  now. 
You  see  I  know  all  about  young  men." 
""I  do  not  tnink  a  young,  timid  girl 
Should  '  No '  so  much,"  I  answered.      And 

going  out 
(Carefully  escorted  by  the  butler,  for  there 

was 

A  better  overcoat  than  mine  in  the  hall), 
I  left  her  alone  and  unloved,  —  with  no  one 

to  care  for  her 

Save  a  couple  of  dozen  servants 
And  a  doting  father  and  mother. 


JRiasummet 


'fi  Cempest. 


AN   EPILOGUE  TO   HAMLET,    PERFORMED   BY 
(V  AMATEURS. 

*CENE:  Elsinore—a  platform  before  the 
castle  (on  an  improvised  stage).     Inky 
darkness.     Shade  of  Hamlet  (solus). 


Shade  of  Hamlet:   Oh,  did  you  see  him,  did 

you  see  the  knave, 
The   spindle-shanked,   low-browed,    and 

cock-eyed 

Clerk  to  an  attorney,  play  at  Hamlet, 
Dream-souled   Hamlet,  wearing  an  eye- 

glass ? 
Oh,  it  was  horrible. 


(Enter  Shade  of  Laertes.} 


Shade  of  Laertes :   What 's   the   matter  with 

Hamlet  ? 
S.  of  H. :   He  's  not  all  right. 

No,  by  the  fame  of   Shakespeare,  he  's 

all  wrong. 

A  certain  convocation  of  talented  ama- 
teurs 

Are  e'en  at  him. 
Your  amateur  is  your  only  emperor  for 

talent ; 

There  's  not  a  genius  in  the  universe 
Who  will  essay  as  much. 


of  L. :   Or,  who   will  imitate   nature    96 , 

abominably. 

Your  head  is  level,  Ham.,  and  I  —  even  I, 
Laertes,  suffered  at  the  hands  of  one 
Whose  fiery  hair,  parted  in  the  middle 
Like    a    cranberry  pie,   caused    me    to 

believe 
That  some  of  nature's  journeymen  had 

made  a  man, 
And   not   made   him  well,   he   imitated 

nature 

So  abominably. 
*S.  of  H.:  Ha!   the  fair  Ophelia! 


of  O. :  Yes,  my  lord,  thine  own   Ophelia, 
Come  back  to  earth  with  heaviness  o' 

grief 
Thy  madness  ne'er  begot,   for   I   have 

seen 

The  efforts  of  a  lisping,  smirking  maid, 
As  graceful  as  a  bean-pole,  and  as  lean. 
Attempt  to  paint  the  sorrow  of  my 

heart. 

Oh,  I  would  get  me  to  a  nunnery. 
•>f  H. :  Let  me  Ophelyour  pulse. 

Mad  — quite  mad;   and  all  because 
A  creature  whom   these   mortals  call  a 

Miss, 

Quite  properly,  as  her  efforts  are  amiss, 
Would  fain  portray  thee.  Soft  you, 

now! 


O  fair  Ophelia.    Nymph  in  thine  orisons 


(Sallant. 


/TVVVO  lovely  maidens  (woe  is  me  I  ) 

Play  tennis  with  my  heart  ; 
And  each  is  wondrous  fair  to  see, 
And  each  is  wondrous  smart. 


In  learning,  money,  beauty,  birth, 
None  can  surpass  them  —  none. 

But  each  receives  my  "  court "  with  mirth, 
And  tells  the  other  one. 

My  "court"!     The  term  is  fitly  used  — 

A  tennis  court,  you  see. 
And  I  know  well  I  am  abused, 

By  the  "racket"  they  give  me. 

Maud  strikes  my  heart  a  brutal  blow, 
And  Mabel  cries  out,  "Fault!" 

back  and  forth  I  undergo 
A  feminine  assault. 


Maud  asks  my  age.     Alas !   I  hear 
Sweet  Mabel  say,  "The  goose 

Is  very  nearly  forty,  dear." 

Maud  answers,  "  Oh,  '  the  deuce  ' !  " 


And  so  my  poor  heart  with  their  wit 

Is  volleyed  oft  and  oft, 
Till  Mabel  cries,  while  holding  it, 

"This  heart  is  far  too  soft." 

And  firing  it  into  the  net, 
She  says,  with  girlish  vim, 

"Although  he  isn't  in  our  'set,' 
We're  making  'game'  of  him." 

And  making  game  they  are,  I  swear 

By  all  the  saints  above, 
With  all  the  terms  of  tennis  there 

Save  but  the  sweetest,  "love." 


t& 


V^ 


-> 
R 

|r». 


after  t&e  &all. 

A    LAST  word  in  the  vestibule, 
"^     A  touch  of  taper  ringers, 
A  scent  of  roses,  sweet  and  cool, 
WThen  she  has  gone  still  lingers. 

He  pauses  at  the  carriage  door 

To  sigh  a  bit  and  ponder. 
He  thinks  the  matter  o'er  and  o'er, 

And  all  his  senses  wander. 

With  mantle  thrown  aside  in  haste, 

Her  heart  a  bit  uncertain, 
And  neither  time  nor  love  to  waste, 

She  watches  through  the  curtain. 

And  she  has  played  him  well,  he  knows, 

Nor  has  he  dared  to  stop  her. 
She  wonders  when  he  will  propose;        <?»; 


lair. 


0! 


|H,  whence,  oh,  where 

Is  Vanity  Fair? 
I  want  to  be   seen  with   the  somebodies 

there. 
I  've    money   and   beauty   and   college-bred 

brains ; 
j  Though  my  'scutcheon  's  not  spotless,  who  '11 

mind  a  few  stains? 

To  caper  I  wish  in  the  chorus  of  style, 
And  wed  an  aristocrat  after  a  while. 

So  please   tell  me   truly,  and  please  tell 

me  fair, 

Just  how  many  miles  it 's  from  Madison 
Square. 


It's  here,  it's  there, 
Is  Vanity  Fair. 

It's  not  like  a  labyrinth,  not  like  a  lair. 
It 's   North   and   it 's   South,  and  it 's  East 

and  it 's  West ; 
You  can  see  it,  oh,  anywhere,  quite  at   its 

best. 
Dame   Fashion  is  queen,  Ready  Money   is 

king, 

^.        You  can   join  it,  provided  you  don't  know 
a  thing. 


It's  miles  over  here,  and  it's  miles  over 

there ; 
And  it's  not  seven  inches  from  Madison 

Square. 


jFor  t&e  ionff 


"TT7ERE  I  a  captain  bold,"  I  said, 
And  gently  clasped  her  hand, 
"  Wouldst  sail  with  me,  by  fancy  led, 
To  every  foreign  strand? 

"Wouldst  help  me  furl  my  silver  sail, 

And  be  my  trusty  crew? 
Wouldst  stand  by  in  the  midnight  gale, 

My  pilot  tried  and  true?" 


"Well,  no,"  she  answered,  blushing  red, 

•'  Such  heavy  work  I  hate. 
But,"  —  listen  what  the  maiden  said,  — 

"I  would  be  your  first  mate." 


I  TOR  A 


THE  ITBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALI 

LOS  ANGELES 


W's 

4«J»,.»B 


L  005  502  924  3 


